Comparisons Will Kill Me
Sometimes I get the urge to write and others its me forcing my fingers to move. I never know really what I want to write about, but I can tell you this: I sure as hell can ramble with the best of them.
I joined a real writing group recently. I'm not sure if I feel totally inept or part of something really awesome. Or some weird combination of both. I've never taken my writing seriously or actually believed I could ever make a living with words. I'm still not sure of the latter, but for the first time in my life I feel like its possible. And then I read brilliant writing or witty writing or ground-breaking writing. I'm pretty convinced that if I ever get published and people ever read my story they'll likely walk away from it saying "She's sort of like a female Nicholas Sparks meets Stephanie Meyer." Now, don't get me wrong. I loved The Notebook and Twilight. I loved them for what they were: really great stories.
Stephanie Meyer is inspirational to me insofar that she was just a mom with a degree in English who happened to write a damn addicting and fun book for chicks to read. I'd just about give a limb to be able to do that. Its just that, well, I want to write smarter than that. I want to write a book that appeals to the average person and says something that will stick. You see, while I love Bella and Edward, I don't much think about that world. As much fun as it is to read, once I closed the book, it was over for me.
I want more than that. I want to write a book that keeps me up all night reading and then thinking. The last book that did that to me was Mathilda Savitch by Victor Lodato. I read about 75% of the book in one night and finished it the following. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I wanted to reach into the pages and hug this lost little girl so much. I want to write scenes like the one in Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum. You know, the one where the man recounts the story of his little brother, dashing across the street to see his mother during WWII. That scene that sticks in my mind so vividly I can remember it now as though I had read it yesterday. I want to create a world like Anne Rice did with her vampires or her witches. I want to tell a story that aches with longing, with desperation like Toni Treschi in Cry to Heaven.
So, you see, I'm shooting myself in the foot. I'm totally short changing myself by already comparing my writing to that of others. I will never be a chameleon writer like David Mitchell. I will never be as sardonic and wickedly funny like David Sedaris. I'll always just be Jenn Curran. And I need to get over it and get on with it. Because, while it was really fun to blather on just now, I just spent thirty minutes writing something that will never make me a dime or move along my own story.
(It was fun though.)
I joined a real writing group recently. I'm not sure if I feel totally inept or part of something really awesome. Or some weird combination of both. I've never taken my writing seriously or actually believed I could ever make a living with words. I'm still not sure of the latter, but for the first time in my life I feel like its possible. And then I read brilliant writing or witty writing or ground-breaking writing. I'm pretty convinced that if I ever get published and people ever read my story they'll likely walk away from it saying "She's sort of like a female Nicholas Sparks meets Stephanie Meyer." Now, don't get me wrong. I loved The Notebook and Twilight. I loved them for what they were: really great stories.
Stephanie Meyer is inspirational to me insofar that she was just a mom with a degree in English who happened to write a damn addicting and fun book for chicks to read. I'd just about give a limb to be able to do that. Its just that, well, I want to write smarter than that. I want to write a book that appeals to the average person and says something that will stick. You see, while I love Bella and Edward, I don't much think about that world. As much fun as it is to read, once I closed the book, it was over for me.
I want more than that. I want to write a book that keeps me up all night reading and then thinking. The last book that did that to me was Mathilda Savitch by Victor Lodato. I read about 75% of the book in one night and finished it the following. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I wanted to reach into the pages and hug this lost little girl so much. I want to write scenes like the one in Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum. You know, the one where the man recounts the story of his little brother, dashing across the street to see his mother during WWII. That scene that sticks in my mind so vividly I can remember it now as though I had read it yesterday. I want to create a world like Anne Rice did with her vampires or her witches. I want to tell a story that aches with longing, with desperation like Toni Treschi in Cry to Heaven.
So, you see, I'm shooting myself in the foot. I'm totally short changing myself by already comparing my writing to that of others. I will never be a chameleon writer like David Mitchell. I will never be as sardonic and wickedly funny like David Sedaris. I'll always just be Jenn Curran. And I need to get over it and get on with it. Because, while it was really fun to blather on just now, I just spent thirty minutes writing something that will never make me a dime or move along my own story.
(It was fun though.)
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